


the land was godless and free

by HawthorneWhisperer



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1930s, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-22
Updated: 2018-03-08
Packaged: 2019-03-22 14:55:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13766532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HawthorneWhisperer/pseuds/HawthorneWhisperer
Summary: Wind ruffled his hair and Bellamy watched the countryside slide past.  Acres of corn stretched all the way to the horizon, broken only by fences and the occasional lone farmhouse.  Farther south the farmland had turned to dust, but up here, they were still plodding along.It felt like that’s all the country had been doing for the past four years— plodding along.  Bellamy had tried to make do at first, but the factory shut down for good two years ago and with it went the last available jobs nearby.  Bellamy was forced to leave Octavia in Indra’s care and set out, looking for whomever would hire him.Turned out, thousands of other men had had the same idea.  So Bellamy became one of a roving band of men who moved from town to town in search of work.  They traveled by the rail lines, and some had come to like it too much, in his opinion.  Those men clumped into groups and he had fallen in with one at first but quickly learned to steer clear, their naked greed and viciousness turning his stomach.Now he traveled more or less alone, watching for his stop out the open train car door on a cloudless, searing day.





	1. Chapter 1

Wind ruffled his hair and Bellamy watched the countryside slide past.  Acres of corn stretched all the way to the horizon, broken only by fences and the occasional lone farmhouse.  Farther south the farmland had turned to dust, but up here, they were still plodding along.   It felt like that’s all the country had been doing for the past four years— plodding along.  Bellamy had tried to make do at first, but the factory shut down for good two years ago and with it went the last available jobs nearby.  Bellamy was forced to leave Octavia under Indra’s watchful eye and set out, looking for whomever would hire him.

Turned out, thousands of other men had had the same idea.  So Bellamy became one of a roving band of men who moved from town to town in search of work.  They traveled by the rail lines, and some had come to like it too much, in his opinion.  Those men clumped into groups and he had fallen in with one at first but quickly learned to steer clear, their naked greed and viciousness turning his stomach.  Now he traveled more or less alone, watching for his stop out the open train car door on a cloudless, searing day.  “Arkadia should be the next town,” Miller said from where he sat against a crate of cloth being shipped to a garment factory.

Monty sat next to him, sipping moonshine from a finely-made flask that told Bellamy Monty hadn’t been born into a life like this.  Bellamy would miss the wind-whipped breeze of train travel, but the rails didn’t give him enough money to eat and send some home to Octavia at the end of each month.  Indra would never turn her out, he knew, but he had promised to pay her what he could and Bellamy was a man of his word.  “You two stopping here?” he asked.  He’d met Miller his third month of traveling, and liked to keep tabs on the man.  Monty was kind, and stronger than Bellamy had initially thought, but Bellamy couldn’t help it— he looked out for people.  It was, as Octavia liked to say, what he did.

“We’re going to keep going.  There’s a rumor they’re hiring for the lumber yards up in Minnesota.  You’re welcome to join us, if you like.”

Bellamy considered it and shook his head.  He’d told Octavia in his last letter he was going to Arkadia, and he was determined to stay there long enough to at least get her reply.  “If I can’t find anything, I’ll come to you.  What’s the company?”

“Azgeda Timber,” Miller said.  He pushed away from the crate and stood just as the train began to slow.  Brakes squealed and an annoyed cow mooed in the distance.  He embraced Miller and clasped Monty’s hand, and then hung out the door to watch for his chance.

The train thundered over a narrow bridge and into a thicket of woods.  With one last nod to his friends he dropped off the side of the train and let his legs crumple beneath him.  He rolled down the short embankment and straightened, dusting himself off as best he could.  He hadn’t had a bath in longer than he cared to remember and it showed, but hopefully he could find an elderly farmer who didn’t care too much about that and just needed a broad, strong back. He picked up his canvas pack— his only memento from his long dead father— and set off back down the tracks, away from town.

Bellamy had learned quickly that walking straight into town was a good way to get arrested and not much else.  It was better to approach houses that were farther out first, especially ones that looked like they had seen better days.  You had to find someone who had enough cash to hire you but not so much that they could find someone better.  Bellamy had gotten good at sweet- talking reluctant farmers into hiring him, or at least putting him up for a few nights in exchange for doing some odd jobs.  

Bellamy decided against the first few farms he passed, on the basis of the first two being too wealthy to want to hire him and the third being clearly too poor to be able to help, although he made a mental note to stop by if he struck out later.  If nothing else, he could help them fix the hole in the roof that must leak something awful in the rain.

But the fourth farm made him pause.  There was a bright red barn and the two story farmhouse was freshly white washed, but the Model T parked in the yard was old and rusted.  Bellamy stopped at a fence post and scanned the fields for a sign of life.  

He spotted a young girl with dark hair hauling hay towards the barn, the bale nearly larger than she was.  She disappeared into the gloom and then re-emerged with a blonde woman in overalls on her heels.  The woman was carrying a crate— full, by the looks of it— and she set it down heavily in the bed of the truck.  She had a red kerchief tied around her hair and she wiped her hands off on her overalls as she talked.  The girl was only a head shorter than her, he noticed, and she listened to the woman intently and then climbed into the bed of the truck, sorting something inside the crate.

The woman jogged back into the barn and returned with a crock.  She walked a few paces and set it down, giving herself a moment before she adjusted her grip and hefted it up again.  She repeated the process three times before she made it to the truck.  Then she walked back to the barn and came out with another crock, and Bellamy made up his mind.

“Need a hand there, ma’am?” he called when he was halfway down the drive.  If there was a man of the house— a husband, a father, a brother— he would be doing the heavy lifting, or would have done it before he left.  This woman doing it on her own meant she was on her own.  Which meant she might want help, and be willing to pay for it.  Granted, she might be skittish about hiring a strange man, but it was worth a try.

She paused and set down the crock, hands on her hips.  “Can I help you?” she said crisply.  Something about her manner spoke of education and money, although the farm was scarcely nicer than any others he’d seen, and a fair bit more rundown than some.

“I was seeing if I could help you,” he said, putting on an almost-rakish smile.  It couldn’t hurt, he reasoned, and might help.  He knew how lonely women responded to him. “That looks heavy.”

“I’ve got it,” she said warily, and he let the smile melt away.  No use in charming someone who didn’t want to be charmed.  Behind him he heard the girl moving in the truck bed and the slow, heavy scrape of a farm tool.

“My name’s Bellamy,” he said, shoulders straight.  “I was in the area, looking for work.  Thought you might have need of me.”

“You thought wrong.”  Her blue eyes were sharp, and her chin lifted dangerously.  She was pretty, just a few years younger than him, and the baggy overalls could not hide the generous curves of her frame.  But she did not offer her name, and over his shoulder her daughter clutched a hoe like a club.

Bellamy touched his hat politely.  “My apologies, ma’am,” he said, and hurried back down the drive to keep from frightening them more.

He didn’t have any more luck that afternoon—  no one was willing to hire him, or else didn’t have the money.  By twilight he was headed back the way he came, careful not to dawdle as he passed the woman’s farm.  She and her daughter were sitting on the porch but he kept his head down and quickened his steps.  He didn’t want her feel as if he were watching her, or worse, that he was a threat.

He stopped by the rundown farm he had noted earlier and knocked on the door.  There was a on light inside, but no one responded to his first two summons.  He had just turned to go— he’d spent plenty of nights under a tree, and this one looked to be no different— when the door creaked open and a bright-eyed young girl looked up at him.  “My papa says we’re not buying whatever it is you’re selling,” she said.

Bellamy took off his cap.  “I’m not selling anything, but could I speak to your father?”

“He’s hurt and can’t walk,” she said.  “He said to tell you to move along.”

“What if I were to fix your roof for you?” he offered, speaking loudly in the hopes her father could hear.  “Might there be a spot for me in the barn if I do?”

She hesitated, and then shut— and locked— the door.  Bellamy waited, and when she returned a red-haired man was limping behind her on a cane.  “Tor,” the man said, holding out his hand.

“Bellamy,” he replied, and taking it.  “And who are you?” he asked the girl kindly, who was standing vigilantly by her father’s side.

“I’m Reese,” she said confidently.  “Reese Lemkin.”

“Well, Reese Lemkin, what does your father say about my offer?” he asked, letting his eyes twinkle just enough to get a grin from her.

“He says you’ll sleep in the barn tonight and have nothing from our table, as we’ve got nothing to share.  But if you fix the roof tomorrow, might be some eggs in it for you,” Tor said gruffly.  Bellamy saw the stiff pride in the other man’s face and knew what this must be costing him.  His leg was in an ugly cast and he leaned heavily on his cane.  Tor followed his gaze.  “Rabbit hole,” he said.  “Broke my ankle.  She says it’ll be fixed by the time harvest comes, but for now—”

“-- for now, Reese is in charge,” Bellamy said, and Reese grinned back at him.  

Tor’s face softened slightly.  “Will you be needing a blanket?”

“I have one,” Bellamy said and gestured with his pack.  “I assume you have a hay loft?”

“It leaks some when it rains,” Tor admitted.

“Then it’s a good thing it doesn’t look like rain,” Bellamy said.

The next morning, Bellamy finished off the last of the bread and cheese he’d packed when Gustus had sent him on his way.  He hoped Tor hadn’t been lying about those eggs, although he saw no sign of chickens around the house and that made him nervous.  There were no other animals either, but the odor of them in the barn hadn’t dissipated entirely, which meant they were only recently sold.  Temporary hard times, then, Bellamy decided, and climbed out of the hay loft.

Tor was waiting for him on the ramshackle porch with his tool box and a short step ladder.  “Will you be needing anything else?” he asked.

Bellamy shook his head and began to work.  The sun was high in the sky, baking the bone dry earth, when he finished.  “Eggs should be on their way,” Tor said cryptically, and sent Reese scurrying to the well to fetch Bellamy some water.  

The water was so cold it nipped at his teeth, but welcome.  Bellamy sat down in the shade and saw Reese eyeing him from a safe distance.  He picked up a stick and traced the letters l-a-b-o-r in the dust.  “Can you read that?” he asked.

She stepped closer.  “Labor,” she said with an eyeroll.  “Give me a hard one.”

Bellamy grinned and for the next ten minutes he wrote increasingly complicated words for Reese to sound out, finally tripping her up with  _ proletariat. _ Tor sat quietly on the porch, his eyes on the road, and Bellamy wondered if he could ask about those eggs or if it was he should pack up and head out.  He wanted to try the western side of town before moving on, but he was already wishing he’d followed Monty and Miller up to the lumber yards.

A familiar Model T pulled off the road and headed up the long drive, and Tor sat forward.  “That’ll be the eggs,” he said, and sure enough, when the truck pulled to a stop the girl from yesterday hopped out with a basket of eggs clutched in her hand. 

The blonde woman climbed out too, and reached back into the cab.  “I made you some biscuits, Tor, but they’re probably hard as rocks,” she said, and drew up short when she saw Bellamy.  “I didn’t realize you had a guest,” she said, that wariness from yesterday returning to her stance immediately.

Reese ran and hugged the girl around the waist and Tor waved.  “Bellamy offered to fix my roof in exchange for a night in the barn.  And some of those eggs,” he added.

Bellamy lifted his cap to her again, and she nodded tightly.  “I met Mrs.--” he broke off and waited for her to fill in her name, but she didn’t.  “-- the Mrs. here yesterday.” 

“Clarke’s not married,” Reese giggled, and Bellamy lifted his eyebrows.   _ Not married _ was different from  _ widowed _ , which was what he expected, but Clarke simply looked him up and down shrewdly.  

“How was his work?” she asked Tor, as if he weren’t there.

“Looks all right to me,” Tor said.  “Won’t know for sure until it rains, if it ever does, but I’d say he earned his keep.”

She jerked her head as if making a decision.  “Then if you’re still interested, I would be willing to hire you on for the season.  I can pay you five dollars a week until the harvest, and then six dollars a week until it’s all in.  You’ll sleep in the barn but can take meals with us, so long as you behave yourself.”

“Behave myself?” Bellamy said, affronted.  He’d been nothing but polite and solicitous to her, and here she was, treating him like a stray cur she was taking in.

“No cursing in front of my daughter, and you’ll keep your hands to yourself.”

Logically, he understood her fear.  He hadn’t even blinked an eye yesterday when her daughter armed herself, because two women on their own were at risk, especially from drifters.  But her tone got under his skin and he had to bite back a retort, because twenty dollars a month would more than cover what he owed Indra.  “Understood, ma’am.”

She clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth.  “You may call me Clarke,” she said primly.  “Madi, it’s time to go.”

“Can I ride in the back?” her daughter asked, and by the time Bellamy returned from gathering his things Clarke was wearing an expression he recognized all too well, that of someone who had just lost an argument with a teenage girl.

Deciding that Clarke would probably rather run the risk of him pestering her rather than Madi, he threw his pack into the bed of the truck and climbed into the cab.  Wind tossed her blonde hair in front of her face as they drove off and she tucked it back, her red kerchief from yesterday gone.  She wasn’t wearing the overalls, either, in their place a white shirtwaist with bright red flowers on the skirt.  She was beautiful, if a touch haughty.

They drove in silence until Bellamy cleared his throat.  “If you don’t mind me asking...how did you come by Madi?” he asked. He’d sized them both up while they said their goodbyes to the Lemkins, and he was confident in his judgment— she wasn't Clarke's natural daughter.  Madi was thirteen or fourteen, but Clarke couldn’t have been more than twenty-four, and Madi didn’t favor her.  And even Octavia, who was the spitting image of her father, shared their mother’s hair and chin with him.  But Madi was wiry and her hair far too dark compared to Clarke’s.

Clarke glanced at him out of the corner of her eye.  “Maybe I do mind you asking,” she said acidly. Bellamy once again swallowed his irritation because money was money, and Clarke sighed.  “An orphan train came through two years ago,” she said, and Bellamy stiffened.

He knew what orphan trains were, all right.  They rounded up children and shipped them off to farms as little more than indentured servants, to be worked to the bone and whipped if they misbehaved.  When his mother had died more than one person had suggested he put Octavia on one, and the thought alone made him shudder.  “That was...kind of you,” he said tightly, because some response seemed to be necessary.  Madi seemed to be well cared for, but he would be watching her like a hawk.  The money wouldn’t be worth it, not if Clarke was that sort, but he could make sure the girl was protected, if only for a time.  She seemed well enough, clean and healthy, but some scars stayed hidden.

Clarke noticed his demeanor and shook her head.  “Someone I loved was on one, once,” she explained, and turned the truck into her own drive.  “I heard one was coming through, and I couldn’t save all of them, but I figured I could save at least one.”

Tension left his shoulders and he relaxed, grateful he wasn’t going to have to try and find a way to smuggle Madi out from under Clarke’s eye.  She shifted into park and pointed towards the barn.  “There’s a hayloft, just like at the Lemkins, although ours doesn’t leak as much when it rains.”  She peered up at the cloudless sky, and mumbled something like  _ if it ever rains again _ .  “I can boil those eggs for you, if you like.  Supper’s at six.”

“And if I don’t have a watch to come in for dinner?”

“Then supper’s still at six and I’ll send Madi to fetch you,” she said, a grin flickering across her face.  

It was the first time he’d seen her even coming close to smiling, and it transformed her.  Her eyes went from cold to warm and sparkling, her mouth from severe to amused.  He instantly wanted to make her smile again, and then checked himself, because he’d sworn that off long ago. But he couldn’t help but smile back. 

Like the sun going behind a cloud, Clarke sobered.  “I assume you know how to milk a cow?”

“Would be a pretty poor farmhand if I didn’t.”

“Madi will be out to help when it’s time, then,” she said, and marched into the farmhouse with her head held high.

For the next three days, they settled into a routine.  Clarke’s hayloft had a small window that let in the breeze and moonlight, and it was as dry and comfortable as any of the haylofts he’d slept in over the years.  Her cooking left something to be desired— once more leading him to suspect she came from money, and that cooking was a relatively new skill for her— but the work was honest and fair.  Clarke had two cows, a dozen or so chickens, and a sty out back for a pig that was no longer among the living, in addition to her corn fields and a small garden of vegetables for her and Madi.  Bellamy helped with the cows and weeding and odd jobs around the house, while Clarke handled taking the excess milk and eggs in to the market.  Madi did the milking and light chores around the farm, but Bellamy was pleased that she didn’t seem to be expected to do much more than a natural-born farm child would do.  They didn’t have a lot, but they had enough to get by, which was a fair sight more than most these days.  But Clarke went to the Lemkins every day with food and eggs, even though she sold eggs at the market and was losing half of them every day.  She wasn’t warm with him— no more smiles— but she wasn’t cold, either.  

He wasn’t sure why that bothered him.

Bellamy also took over loading up the truck for market, since her milk and cream were heavy even for him.  On the fourth day— a bright, hot day like the previous week— he finished loading the truck bed and turned to Clarke.  “I was thinking I’d ride in with you,” he said.  “My sister said she’d write me.  I’d like to see if the post office has something from her.”

“I can fetch it for you,” she said without looking at him. "I'd prefer you stay here."

Bellamy bristled.  “Am I prisoner here?” he asked, and she startled at the harshness of his tone.

“Of course you’re not.  There’s just no need for you to go.”

“Well, I want to.  I’ll walk, if I must.”  He crossed his arms over his chest and she glared at him.  

Something unreadable passed behind her eyes.  “You’re sitting in the back.  There’s no room for you up front.”  That much was a blatant lie, and Madi was inside working on the schoolwork Clarke set for her.  The cab would be empty, with plenty of space for him.

Bellamy frowned, but he climbed into the bed with the produce and milk all the same.  He brooded over her attitude all the way to town, and his frown deepened when she stopped short in front of the post office.  “I’ll be back here in thirty minutes,” she called out the window, and he had no choice but to climb down and watch her peel away.

Bellamy was used to people treating him like the hired help, since that was what he was.  But Clarke— it was like she was ashamed of him.  And that stung, no matter how much he told himself it didn’t matter.

By the time she pulled back up in front of the post office, his mood had not improved.  He had found a letter from Octavia waiting, but everywhere he went, whispers seemed to follow.  There were looks and giggles and one mother yanked her child out of his way, as if he were dangerous.  There was only one explanation for that, and she was giving him room and board.

He managed a nod when he climbed into the truck, but he refused to speak to her after that.  He grunted at her questions over dinner, and eventually she gave up on talking to him and shifted to Madi instead.  Bellamy usually stayed to help with the dishes but that night he simply walked out without a word.

Night fell and Bellamy sat in the hayloft, looking out at the stars.  His fingers twisted a strand of straw and he ground his teeth together in frustration.   _ The money is worth it _ , he told himself sternly, but for some reason, the knowledge that Clarke was telling tales about him in town— what, he couldn’t imagine— bothered him more than he could say.

The ladder creaked and her blonde hair peeked up over the top.  “If you’re going to share our meals, the least you can do is respond like a civilized person,” Clarke snapped.

Bellamy ignored her and found Cassiopeia twisting and turning in her throne in the sky. Clarke sighed and started back down, and he cleared his throat.  “What’d you tell them?” he asked.

“What?”

“You didn’t want me to go into town, and once I was there no one stopped whispering about me for more than two minutes.  So what did you tell them? Because I’ve never set foot in that town before today.”

“Nothing.”  Her head reappeared over the ladder and she clambered off.  When he looked at her in question, she sighed again.  “I didn’t say anything.”

“Then what were they talking about?” 

“Me.  They were talking about me,” she snapped.  “But it’s none of your damn business, and if you’re going to stay on my property, you’ll act like a civilized human.  That includes speaking with words, if you remember how to do that,” she added nastily.

“Whatever you say, princess,” he growled, and she left the barn in a huff.

He barely slept at all that night, and wished he didn’t care what Clarke Griffin had done to get the town so worked up.

 

* * *

 

Clarke was already at the sideboard washing dishes when he arrived for breakfast the next morning, but he was careful to say hello, and she nodded politely in his direction.  Bellamy set down the pail of milk he’d brought and she delivered him a plate.  He scarfed down the overcooked eggs and slightly burned bacon he was rapidly getting used to, and poured himself a cup of coffee to have on the porch.  Madi was outside feeding the chickens and the sun was slowly rising, painting the eastern sky pink and gold.  There were a few wisps of clouds off to the north, but nothing that could produce the rain the land sorely needed.

Footsteps told him Clarke was behind him, and she sat next to him on the step.  “They were talking about me,” she said, picking up their conversation as if it had never stopped.  “When I moved out here, it caused some scandal.”

Bellamy lifted his mug to his lips and waited for her to continue.  “Well,” he said with half a grin, “Go on.”

The corner of her lips quirked up and she sipped her own coffee.  “I’m from Chicago originally,  My mother’s family was...quite wealthy.  I met a man who was taking a course at the University.  He was from here, and goodness, so charming.  I fell in love with him so fast it just about made my head spin, and when he proposed— I had no problem following him back out here.  He left when his course was done and told me he’d send for me.”  

Clarke wrapped her arms around her legs and rested her chin on her knees.  She seemed to glow in the morning light, a fact Bellamy was deliberately avoiding noticing.  “But then...he kept putting me off.  Kept saying he wanted the farm to be ready, and first it was not until Christmas, and then not until spring, and then— you get the idea.  I got tired of waiting and I’m a modern woman, so I packed my trunk and sent him a letter saying I’d be traveling just two days behind it.”

Bellamy could see where this was going.  “And you found him with a wife and two kids out here already?”

“Almost,” she said, a hint of humor and sadness in her voice.  “He had another fiancée.  Her name’s Raven— she keeps my truck running, now.”

“And what happened to him?”

“He died,” she said with unmistakable sadness.  “His tractor tipped over, barely a month after I arrived.”

“And now you can’t even hate him in peace,” Bellamy filled in, and Clarke nodded. “But why would that make you the object of scandal?”

She gave a dry snort.  “Because I’m a woman.  Because I refused to be shamed by what he’d done, and because I chose not to go back to Chicago.  I meant it when I told Finn I wanted to be a farmer, so I took the money I had from my father and I bought this place.”

Bellamy grinned.  “What about the other fiancée?”

“She’s faced her own fair share of gossip.  But she was born and raised here, and she was determined not to let him win.  She’s one of my dearest friends now.”

“How long ago was this?”

“Four years.”

“And why were they still talking about it?” he pressed.

“Well, if a woman who has shown an independent streak, who moved two states away because of a man, has a single man staying with her...they’ll talk.”

Bellamy let it all sink in.  He had the feeling there was more to the story, but he didn’t press.  “I know something about that sort of gossip,” he said, and held out his hand.  It was dark from the sun but still freckle-spattered, and next to her ivory complexion it seemed to drink in the light.  “My father was from the Philippines.”

“That’s in the South Pacific, isn't it?”

“It is.  He moved to California initially, and then to the east coast, where he met my mother.”  He smiled, remembering the stories Aurora used to tell about him.  “They fell in love, and got married.  But it was only blessed in the eyes of the church, not the law.  As far as our town was concerned, they were an aberration, and me, well, I was the proof of that.  My father died before I was old enough to really remember, but the stain of having been with him— that never left my mother.  We moved, but it wasn’t enough, because—”

“-- because you were there.”

Bellamy nodded.  “My sister is white, but I— I made things hard for them.”

“That’s hardly your fault,” Clarke said.

“Not any more than yours is,” Bellamy replied.

She smiled gently.  “Fair enough.”

“You said someone you cared for was on an orphan train.  That wasn’t Finn, was it?”

Just like that, her face shuttered.  “No, it wasn’t.  But we shouldn’t dawdle— the day’s wasting,” she said, and pushed herself up.

From that point on, however, things with Clarke shifted.  She wasn’t open, exactly, but she was warmer, less stiff and formal. Raven came out some evenings, either to listen to the radio or to quiz Madi on the parts of an engine.  He came to like the dark haired woman, with her sharp eyes and equally sharp laugh, although she took a few weeks to warm up to him and stop treating him with guarded suspicion.  That seemed to be part and parcel of the women out here, but perhaps it was simply practicality borne of painful experience.

Sometimes he heard Clarke humming while they worked, and more than once he thought he heard her singing to herself while she pulled weeds or gathered eggs.  She had a pretty voice, high and sweet, and he caught himself finding excuses to be near her when he didn’t strictly need to be.  She seemed to be in his orbit more often than necessary too, but Bellamy kept his mind firmly on the end of October, when the harvest would be in and she’d have no more need of him.

There was no point in getting attached.


	2. Chapter 2

Bellamy started to feel at home on the Griffin farmstead, and nowhere more so than in his hayloft.  He had a perfect view of the stars from where he laid out his bedroll, and he let the chirping of the frogs lull him to sleep at night.  It became part of his routine, like milking the cows or helping Madi with her Virgil. Once he retired to the barn he generally didn’t see them again until the morning, left alone with his thoughts and the gentle noises of the cows below him.

He had just climbed into the hayloft one evening when the barn door creaked open and Clarke walked in with a lantern.  “I forgot something in here,” she called up.

“Need help?” he yelled back.

“Found it,” she said, and turned to go.

“Why don’t you keep me company?” he offered before he could stop himself.  He wondered if he’d crossed a line, if she’d close down like she did whenever they edged too near to a story she clearly didn’t want to tell.  But with Clarke he couldn’t quite help himself— he always wanted more.

Clarke’s feet stopped their progress towards the door and he held his breath, letting it out only when she started up the ladder.  “What’d you leave?” he asked.

Clarke laid down a small notebook and settled into the hay.  She curled her legs under her and smoothed out her skirt.  “Sketchbook.”

“You draw?”

“And paint, but not as much anymore,” she said, surprising him.  “It’s nice up here,” she continued.  “Before Madi, I used to come up here sometimes.  Look at the stars.”

“Not anymore?”

“Not as much time when you’ve got a child to mind,” she said with a fond grin.

Bellamy glanced out the window at the crescent moon.  “I like it up here too,” he said.  There was something about Clarke that drew him in, made him feel tethered.  He hadn’t felt like this in years, and he craved that connection.  Something urged him to deepen it and he steeled himself.  “Reminds me of my sweetheart.”

Clarke stopped twirling a straw between her fingers and looked at him.  “You have a sweetheart?”

“Had,” he said, and even after five years, sadness made his voice rough.  “Her name was Gina.  Her father was a farmer, and we—”

“ — used to sneak into his hayloft?” Clarke teased gently.  

“We did,” he chuckled.  “She was nice.  Nicer than me, anyway, and with this smile— everyone loved her,” he said thickly.  “She liked to have me tell her stories about the constellations.  My mother loved mythology, so I knew a lot of them.”

“I’d like to hear them sometime.”  She nudged at her sketchbook with her foot, and Bellamy took her meaning and picked it up.  The first few pages were the same woman— young, like them, with full lips and long, thick hair.

“Her name was Lexa,” Clarke said, the same tightness in her voice as he had when he spoke about Gina.  “She was orphaned young.  Didn’t even know where her family was from, originally, because she was sent on an orphan train when she was barely three.  She had a hard life, but she was the strongest person I ever knew.”

“And you loved her,” he said, and her eyes darted to him in surprise.  It was written all over her, from the way her eyes took on a far away cast to the soft, reverent way she spoke.  And he was no stranger to feelings for your own sex; his own hesitant, fumbling kisses with Miller the first few months after he began traveling still emblazoned in his mind.  “I know how that can come to be,” he added meaningfully.

Clarke eyed him carefully and slowly, the tension in her shoulders melted away.  “I loved her,” she said, eyes wet.  “But she died. Scarlet fever.  Nearly four years ago.”

“Gina worked in a factory in town,” Bellamy said, and kept his gaze on the stars.  “We were saving up, maybe buy a place of our own.  I told her I could earn enough, but she insisted.  She wanted to help, and she wanted us to be able to get married before kingdom come, she used to say.  She hated the factory, but swore it was worth it.”  His voice caught.  “There was a fire.  She didn’t make it out.”

“Lexa only got sick because I insisted on visiting some neighbors who had fallen ill. I fancied myself a doctor, and she died for it,” Clarke said, and a tear slipped down her cheek.  “You think it’s your fault, don’t you? That she died?”

“Because it was.”  It was the first time he had spoken of Gina in years, and the only time he had ever admitted that out loud.  Gina was dead because of him.  The pain would never truly leave him, but somehow, voicing it had made the pain less sharp.  

“It wasn’t,” she whispered.

“And Lexa didn’t die because of you,” he said. Impulsively, he reached out his hand and Clarke took it, squeezing tight.  The moonlight poured in, turning the loft to silver, and they shared a sad smile.

It got harder to keep his distance from Clarke after that.  No matter how many times he told himself there wasn’t any point, that he’d be moving on come fall, he found himself making excuses to linger near her.  Sparks passed between their fingers every time she handed him a dish, and he had to fight the urge to tuck a lock of her hair back behind her ear whenever it would stubbornly fall into her face while they worked side by side.  And he felt her eyes on him more often now, her gaze like a weight on his back.  But he kept a respectable distance from her as best he could, because no matter what he felt for her, it was doomed.

 

* * *

 

Bellamy sat up with a start, not sure what had woken him.  He was just about to lie back down when he heard it— footsteps, and whispers.  Low whispers.

Male whispers.

Bellamy slipped on his trousers but didn’t bother with his shirtsleeves or his boots, hurrying down the ladder soundlessly as possible.  He crept out the barn door and stayed in the shadows, hidden.

“You’re sure?” one voice said.  

“Supposed to be a woman on her own, just her and a kid.  Easy,” the other one whispered back.

Bellamy darted around back and sprinted up the porch steps to the back door.  But Clarke had it locked, so he had to slip around to the front and hope they wouldn’t notice he wasn’t coming from inside the house.

He stepped into the moonlight and the prowlers drew up short.  They had the look of drifters about them, but Bellamy didn’t recognize their faces.  That much wasn’t surprising— the country was crawling with men like him.  “Can I help you?” he asked loudly, crossing his arms across his chest.

A light went on upstairs, throwing a yellow square out onto the parched lawn.

“Just two travelers, wondering if there’s a spot in the barn for us.”  The one who spoke had a shifty look about him, as if approaching a woman’s house in the dead of night wasn’t clue enough they were dangerous.

“There isn’t,” Bellamy said.

“Seems to me, maybe we should ask the lady of the house,” the man pressed.  “Since last I heard, she didn’t have a husband.”  Bellamy cursed the pipeline of information drifters passed around.  For some it was simply a useful tool for finding work and for some it was ripe for exploitation.

The door opened behind him and Clarke emerged with her silk wrapper cinched tightly around her waist.  She had a shotgun held casually by her side.  “We’re full up,” she said, coming to stand next to him.  “You might as well move along.”

When the men didn’t move, she pointed the rifle towards the sky.  “You’re trespassing,” she said warningly.  They looked at each other, and Clarke fired straight into the air.  The  _ crack _ echoed across the fields and both men flinched.  

“We meant no harm,” one said.

“Then keep moving and you’ll have done no harm,” she said, sighting down the one on the left.  

Madi came hurtling down the stairs.  “What was that?”

“Stay inside, Madi,” Clarke said, not looking back.  She kept the gun tucked against her shoulder, jaw set.  Madi edged back inside and Bellamy shifted to block her from view.  They watched the men raise their hands in surrender and slowly back away.

None of them spoke until the men had disappeared back into the gloom at the end of the drive.  Clarke let out a breath and sagged against the porch railing.  Bellamy took the gun from her hand and studied her face.  “You okay?”

“I’m fine. Madi, are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” Madi echoed.  “Who were they?”

“No one,” Bellamy said firmly.  “They’ve gone.”

“Think they’ll come back?” Madi asked.  She was watching the drive apprehensively, like they were going to reappear any moment.

“I think Clarke scared the piss out of them, is what I think,” he said dryly, and Clarke gave him a weak smile.  “But I can stay up tonight.  Sit by the door, see if they come back.  I doubt they will, but you’ll sleep better with someone keeping watch.”

“I’ll stay up too,” Madi said.

“No you will not,” Clarke said.  “Back to bed.  I’ll come tuck you in,” she added, because Madi might fancy herself an adult but there was still a part of her that was just a child.  Madi looked between them and reluctantly trotted up the stairs, Clarke on her heels.

Bellamy rested Clarke’s rifle against the house and sat down on the porch, legs stretched in front of him.  The night was soft and bright, it’s beauty at odds with the danger that lurked under the surface.  

Clarke returned some time later.  “Is Madi okay?”

“She will be,” Clarke said.  “Mostly upset she missed the excitement.  She’s in bed, at least.”

“You should be too.  Get some rest,” Bellamy said, his eyes on the drive.

She shook her head.  “I won’t be able to sleep, not after that. I’ll go make some coffee.”

Bellamy settled against the door jamb and when Clarke came back with two mugs of coffee she sat opposite him.  At first they sat in silence, eyes on the road, but soon they began talking.  About nothing much in particular at first, just chores they needed to get done and parts he thought she should buy for the tractor, and then their conversation slipped to where it always seemed to slip with her, to things he’d never told anyone else.  He told her about Miller, and Octavia, and about the stories his mother used to tell him.  He told her about his mother dying in the Spanish Flu and she told him how her father died in a streetcar accident back in ‘27, the pain of it still sharp despite the distance.And she told him all about Lexa, the fierce, loyal woman she’d loved.  He didn’t feel alone with Clarke, something that was both enticing and dangerous.

“We had servants, yes,” she said, several hours into their vigil.  “How did you know?”

“I’ve been eating your cooking for weeks,” he said, hiding his smile behind the mug.

Clarke screwed up her face, losing her battle and letting out a bark of laughter.  “Is it that bad? Madi’s never complained.”

“When you’re not used to much, you don’t bother with complaining,” he explained.  “But yes, it’s terrible.  What did eggs ever do to you?”

“Then you cook,” she charged.

“Fine, I will,” he agreed.  When she lifted her eyebrows in surprise, he shrugged.  “Someone had to feed Octavia.  I’m a fast learner, even if we had to eat burned eggs for the first six months.  Mostly, you’re second guessing yourself.  You’re not sure if it’s done, so you’re leaving it too long.”

“Trust my instincts, you’re saying?”

“Exactly.”

The sun cracked the horizon and color began leeching back into the world.  First came her silk wrapper, the color of fresh butter rising in a churn, and then the pink of her lips, matching the stain on her cheeks.  Her legs curled under her were bare, he realized— the first time he’d seen her without her stockings.

Bellamy averted his gaze and realized Clarke wasn’t looking at him either.  Her eyes were drawn to his bare chest, and her lips parted.  His breath caught in his throat, not sure what to say but sure that he wanted to say  _ something _ , and then Clarke looked away and the moment faded.  

“You needn’t stay in the barn any longer,” Clarke said, uncoiling her legs and standing up.  “We have a sofa.  It’ll be more comfortable than the hay, and if those drifters come back, Madi and I will sleep more soundly knowing you’re nearby.”

Bellamy swallowed, words still caught in his throat, and nodded.

 

* * *

 

Most of Clarke’s land was taken up by her fields, but back behind the house was a small copse of trees and a tiny stream.  When he had a spare minute he liked to walk in the cool, burbling water.  The prairie heat felt like an oven some days but the spring was like a cool breeze off a lake.  Farther down the brook joined with another to become a creek, dangerously low now that Clarke had Raven’s irrigation system set up to spare her fields the worst of the drought, but back here it was hardly more than a trickle.  Bellamy rolled his trousers up to keep them out of the water and waded in.  The water came up only to his mid calf, cold as well water, and he bit back a satisfied groan.

A twig snapped and he heard a soft chuckle.  “I see we had the same idea,” Clarke said.  She was back in her overalls, the red kerchief holding her cropped hair up off her neck.  He liked the way she could shift between practical farmer’s clothes and light, delicate dresses, both of them fitting her perfectly.  And he liked that he could see the curve of her neck like this, soft and inviting.  He liked entirely too much about her, to be perfectly honest.

Bellamy straightened.  “See now, the way I see it, this here’s my stream.  You’ll have to find your own,” he said with a grin.

“You think this is your stream?” Clarke said playfully, arching an eyebrow.  “We’ll see about that.”  She kicked off her boots and rolled her pants up to the knees.  Bellamy darted his eyes away, wondering just what it was about her muscular calves that seemed to always draw his gaze.

Clarke sighed in relief when she waded into the cold water.  Bellamy crossed his arms in a mock challenge, and she laughed.  “You heard me, this is mine,” he said, eyes sparkling, and kicked a few droplets of water in her general direction.

Clarke squealed in surprise and then her face fell into a familiar look of determination.  She narrowed her eyes and bent over, and then sent a sloshing wave into his legs.  Bellamy made an embarrassing squawk and slapped at the water, and for the next few minutes the air sparkled with beads of water in the dappled sunlight. They caught in her hair like a crown and she sent a wash of of water that slapped him in the chest when he bent down with cupped hands.

“Oh, is that how it is?” he said, grinning, and Clarke turned her body to avoid the worst of his next splash.  Bellamy grabbed her arm and tugged, and when she didn’t budge he wrapped his arms around her from behind and picked her up, her delighted laughs echoing through the trees.  He tossed her— barely more than a few inches— and she stumbled back into the water, finally spinning to look at him.  Their lower halves were drenched, but there was hardly enough water to do more.  

It had been ages since he laughed like this, since he played like a child in a creek.  From the look on Clarke’s face she felt the same way, and an unseen force had him reaching out to touch her arm again.  But this time it wasn’t to tug her closer— it was just to touch her, his thumb sweeping across her forearm in a slow, deliberate arc.

Clarke looked down.  “Bellamy,” she murmured, and his mouth went dry.

“Clarke?” Madi called, and the spell was broken.  Clarke pulled away and straightened the denim strap that was threatening to slip from her shoulder.  

“Back here,” she called and sloshed out of the creek.  “Just cooling off.”

Madi emerged from the underbrush and her bright eyes quickly took in the scene.  “Tor called about his cast.”

“I’ll go call him back,” Clarke said, and Bellamy shuffled his feet in the water, eyes averted.

The moment in the creek changed everything.  Their every interaction seemed laden with meaning, full of portent he wasn’t sure he could acknowledge.  The twin flames of desire and longing had kindled in his chest, and Bellamy tried in vain to snuff them out.  When you lived a life like him, you didn’t get to have a future.  Not in the real, permanent sense.  Maybe if the world ever righted itself he’d find stability, but until then he would be roaming, always searching for the next paying job.  He had Octavia to look out for and a promise to a dying mother to uphold, and that meant that when the work dried up here, he’d be on to the next place.  Clarke had enough for the summer and the harvest, but come winter there’d be precious little for him to do.  He’d simply have to move on.

And if this was just desire, just a simple matter of lust, he could probably have let go.  He was used to stifling that side of him.  But the longing— the need to spend time with her, see Clarke smile, be the one to  _ make  _ her smile— caught him off guard.

He felt her drawing back from him too, her  _ good mornings  _ a little stiffer, her chat at the supper table a little more formal than before.  Bellamy was sleeping on the sofa now, and at night he could hear the floorboards above his head creaking when she climbed into bed.  Once he thought he heard her come to the top of the stairs, but no matter how long he stared at the staircase, she never emerged.

So he kept his distance, turning down rides into town just so he wouldn’t have to sit so near her, listening to her hum over the roar of the wind.  On one such hot, languid day, he took advantage of Clarke and Madi’s absence to bathe.  Clarke had given him free use of an old copper tub and he set it up in the barn for some privacy.  But on his way out of the house he caught sight of his face in a window and paused.  He ran a hand across his jaw, feeling the stubble scrape his palm, and changed his mind.

He found the small mirror and razor from Octavia, hunted up a basin and a scrap of soap, and settled down on a stool out near the pump.  Clarke had running water, but Bellamy wasn’t quite used to it and at any rate he liked the feel of cold, bracing well water, especially on hot days like this.  He left his shirt draped over a fence post and lathered up his face, imagining what Octavia would say about the state of his beard.   _ You call that a beard? _ He could see her saying with an eye roll.   _ If you say so. _

He had just finished scraping the curve of his jaw on the right side when the truck rumbled up and Clarke hopped out.  “Madi is staying with Tor and Reese for the day,” she called, and then drew up short.

Her cheeks flamed.  “I’m sorry, I’ll—” She turned around.  “I didn’t realize you were occupied.  I’ll— I’ll give you some space.”

Something long buried stirred in his chest.  “Did you need something, princess?” he asked in a voice he hadn’t used in years.  His lips curved into a grin and he stood, his bare chest glinting in the sunlight.  It was like the moment in the creek again, light and heavy at once.

Clarke spun and lifted her chin, eyes dancing.  “You look different clean shaven,” she said archly.

Bellamy touched his jaw.  “Is that a good thing or a bad thing?” he asked, letting his voice deepen, and he watched her eyes darken.

But suddenly, she was back to wearing the mask of a proper farm matron.  “It’s neither here nor there,” she said primly, and disappeared into the house.

But no amount of cold water could make him forget the way her gaze had set his skin burning.  He washed in the tub, refusing to let his brain wander to the places it wanted to go even as images of Clarke’s bare legs and the curve of her breasts under her dress flashed behind his eyelids.

When he dressed and went inside for lunch, the air was filled with static electricity.  Clarke was edgy, fumbling plates and nearly dropping the water glass when their fingers brushed.  He felt off-kilter too, despite his earlier bravado.  He wanted her, but he wasn’t sure he was  _ allowed  _ to want her.  

They made stilted conversation, mostly about the weather and lack of rain, and then lapsed into silence as they chewed.  Clarke was avoiding looking at him and he couldn’t tear his eyes from her.  She stood to clear the dishes, eyes still downcast, and he rose to join her.  He put his plate near the sideboard and she paused at the sink, hands pressed flat on either side.  She was looking out the window, her eyes hazy, and without thinking Bellamy tucked a lock of hair back behind her ear.

Clarke went still.  He watched her throat work as she swallowed, and she flicked her eyes towards him.  There was no disgust there, no rejection.  Only want.  He moved behind her, his hands gently resting over hers.  He pressed his chest against her back and Clarke softened, leaning back into him.  He took the invitation and skimmed his lips along the shell of her ear, brushing a kiss to the hollow behind her earlobe.  Clarke made a noise like a groan and dropped her head against his shoulder.  He breathed in her scent and smoothed his hand up her arm, feeling the strength of her muscles beneath her shirtwaist dress.  His hand kept traveling, past her shoulder and to the soft expanse of skin below her throat.  Bellamy braced his hand there, her pulse fluttering rapidly against his fingertips.  He kissed her neck again, feeling as though he were floating above his body, and found the first button on her dress.

Clarke crumpled forward.  “No,” she said in a rough, haggard voice.  

"We can't." Bellamy drew back as if he’d been burned.  “I’m sorry, I thought—”

“It doesn’t matter what you thought,” Clarke said, still gripping the sink for dear life.  “We can’t.  I can’t.”  She looked up and shook her head.  “I have to see to the laundry,” she mumbled, and rushed away, brushing her cheeks with the back of her hand as she went.

Bellamy sat down heavily, face in hands.  He didn’t know what had come over him just then, only that he wanted her more than he had ever realized.  The feel of her skin under his fingertips was palpable, indelibly burned in his brain.  He looked out the window and watched her hanging laundry, clipping sheets to the line with terrifying efficiency.  Every so often she would glance towards the house, but he couldn’t read her face.  He wanted to apologize and he wanted to crush her against him and kiss her senseless, and he knew neither would be welcomed.  

Instead, he found his way to the southern fence.  He had been meaning to fix it since he saw the broken, listing post a week ago, but as the cows were placid creatures not prone to escaping he had put it off.  He lost himself in the work, needing the ache in his muscles it caused.  Sweat poured down his face and he stripped to his shirtsleeves, cotton sticking to his chest and stomach.

Satisfied but still heart-heavy, he picked up his tools and walked back to the barn.  He’d get himself a drink of water and track Clarke down. He would apologize and promise never to touch her again; offer to leave if need be.  But when he walked into the barn he found her sitting on the milking stool, head in hands.

Bellamy set down his tools and she looked up, eyes wet.  “Clarke, I—”

She shook her head and brushed past him.  He caught her arm— not to seduce her, but simply to catch her attention— and spun her around.  “Let me apologize, at least,” he said past the lump in his throat.  He had never meant to upset her, and knowing that he had sent another spike of familiar guilt through his chest.

“It’s not that,” she said, and he dropped her arm.  Touching her was dangerous, he realized.  “You have nothing to apologize for.”

“I was out of line earlier,” he pressed.  “I never should have—”

“Don’t.  You weren’t, because I wanted…” She looked away.  “What I want doesn’t matter.  It’s not a matter of what I want, it’s— I can’t.”

“Why not?” he asked, even though that wasn’t what he meant to say.  He meant to say  _ I understand, I shouldn’t have, I’ll go if that’s what you want. _

Tears threatened and he curled his hands into fists, because every inch of his body screamed for him to go to her.  He wanted to hold her until those tears stopped, wanted to dry them from her cheeks before they got a chance to fall.  “Just— I can’t. Please, Bellamy.  Don’t ask for something I can’t give.”

“I won’t,” he vowed, and he meant it.  Clarke looked at him for a long moment, angrily wiping her tears, and he left the barn, giving her the privacy she clearly needed.  

In the yard, he stared up in the the cloudless sky until his own tears no longer pricked the corners of his eyes.

  
  



	3. Chapter 3

In early August, Madi left for three weeks at Clarke’s mother’s home in Chicago.  Clarke drove her to the train station early one morning, and when she came home, the house felt emptier.  Madi wasn’t particularly chatty— at least not compared to Octavia— but Bellamy had grown used to having her around, asking him questions about the Latin text Clarke was making her translate so she didn’t fall behind over the summer.  Madi liked to whine to Bellamy that it wasn’t fair to have to do schoolwork when school wasn’t in session, and he would just shrug and quiz her on the ablative case. They had a routine, only partially unsettled by his moment with Clarke by the sink, and Madi provided a much-needed buffer.

He couldn’t well think of seducing Clarke while Madi was there, and he wondered if Clarke had been using Madi in much the same way.  She'd stuck a little closer to Madi’s side than usual, and Bellamy took her meaning and spent more and more time outside. But now they couldn’t count on Madi popping around a corner.  He had kept his word and hadn’t touched Clarke since that day, he couldn’t deny that there was still a frisson between them.

He was used to denying himself, but he wasn’t going to pretend like it was easy.  And not just because Clarke was beautiful, although she was. But over the course of the summer she had crept into his heart, tip-toeing through a door he didn’t even know he’d left open.  He wasn’t alone in that, either. He was sure of it. He saw the way Clarke looked at him when she thought he didn’t see, saw the way she would lick her lips unconsciously and then let her hair fall between them like a shield.

He started finding excuses to be far from her during the day, even took a couple of his meals out on the porch to try and give her space.  But the pace of time seemed to have slowed to a crawl, and after a few days of them rattling around the farm like two loose peas, he started to wonder if they could make it the whole three weeks without something breaking.

The prairie heat, usually broiling at this point in the summer, had turned into a furnace, ratcheting up the tension inside the farmhouse along with the mercury.  The sun beat down relentlessly and every day, dark clouds would gather on the horizon, promising rain that never came. Bellamy would watch lightning flash between them in the evenings, but still the rain stayed stubbornly out of reach.

The fourth day they were alone, Bellamy found himself drifting towards Clarke, her gravity dragging him ever closer.  She stood in the early afternoon sunshine, sweat glistening on her skin, clipping up wet laundry. The white sheets billowed in the hot breeze, echoing the clouds scuttling above them.

Bellamy stuck his head under the pump to cool off.  “Think it’ll rain today?” he asked, just for something to say.  He was sick of the silence, sick of pretending he didn’t feel what he felt, the heat pressing down on him like a physical weight.  He shook his head to get rid of the extra water, his curls springing back into place.

Clarke looked over her shoulder.  “I’m not holding my breath,” she said.  She tugged at a twisted sheet in the basket and frowned.  Without thinking, Bellamy and grabbed the other end. Wordlessly they unwound it and he held it out for her to clip in place.  Her fingers brushed the back of his hand and he closed his eyes, willing himself to forget how it felt. They hadn’t touched in over a week, but he could still remember the feel of her skin.

“Bellamy,” she whispered, and when he looked at her, he saw nothing but need in those blue eyes. 

 It nearly undid him. “Don’t worry,” he said roughly.  “I’m a man of my word.”

He turned and she touched his arm, but he refused to look back.  “Bellamy, we should talk,” she said.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” he replied, his heart aching.  “I understand, and I won’t— I’m sorry,” he said. “I’ll be in the back field until the cows need milking.”  She made a noise in protest but he couldn’t look back, not without breaking.

But that day, the clouds on the horizon weren’t just an empty threat.  Within hours the sun had dropped behind a thunderhead, plunging the world into shadow.  Bellamy squinted up at the rapidly approaching clouds, watching them pile into each other into a writhing, trembling mass, and hurried back to the barn.  He milked the cows and brought the pail to the creamery, but still the storm hadn’t broken. He loaded it into the icebox to chill and found Clarke standing on the porch, watching the clouds.  Thunder rumbled in the distance, the clouds were nearly on top of them. Wind tugged at her skirt and her hair lifted from her neck, her eyes intent on the horizon.

Bellamy swallowed hard and joined her on the steps.  “At least it’ll rain,” he said, and Clarke looked up at him, lips parted, and all other thoughts flew from his head.  Her eyes darted to his lips, and then a crack of lightning had them both jumping out of their skins.

A drop of water hit the dust, and then another, and another.  Light rain sprinkled down and Clarke jolted. “Shit, the laundry,” she muttered, and darted off the porch, Bellamy hot on her heels.

They snatched at the clothes without any real method, tossing them into the basket until the lines were empty.  The rain was soft but picking up, and Clarke tossed the basket up onto the porch, under the overhang. Bellamy started up the steps but she grabbed his arm and shook her head.  “Nuh uh,” she said with a grin. “We’re going to celebrate this.”

Bellamy tipped his head quizzically.  “Celebrate?”

Clare dragged him back out into the rain with a brilliant smile on her face.  “It’s raining, Bellamy. What kind of farmer would I be if I didn’t celebrate the end of a drought?”  She spun around with her arms outspread, head tilted back to the sky.

He couldn’t help it.  He laughed, drinking in the sight of Clarke’s happiness.  The rain splattered cool against his cheeks and soaked into his shirt, and Clarke splashed into a puddle.  Her joy was contagious and the weight across his shoulders fell away.

Clarke squealed when he wrapped his arms around her waist and hoisted her into the air.  Their clothes were soaked, molded to their bodies, and they laughed as he spun them around.  Clarke’s blue dress was rapidly becoming translucent and goosebumps pricked across her chest, her collarbone level with his eyes.  Bellamy slowly lowered her down, and his breath caught. Her hair was dark gold and her eyes a deep, endless blue. Her eyelashes clumped together in the water, drops of rain dotting her skin.  She licked her lush, pink lips and his eyes tracked the movement of her tongue without thinking. He flexed his fingers on her waist, and made himself let go.

“I’m sorry,” he said.  Clarke had made herself clear and here he was, crossing her lines again.  Thick, heavy guilt spread through his ribcage and he turned to leave.

She placed a hand on his arm.  “No,” she said firmly.

His heart stopped, and Bellamy caught her face in his hands.  “Tell me you want this,” he whispered, her eyes burning. He grazed her nose with his and their breath mingled.  “Tell me you want this, and I— I’ll be whatever you need.” His heart was pounding out of his chest, and cold rain trickled down the back of his neck, but the world had faded away.  Her fingers curled around his biceps and she nodded.

He wanted to kiss her gently, but the moment their lips met it was a lost cause.  She crushed against him, her mouth warm and soft, and he eagerly traced the seam of her lips with his tongue, seeking entrance.  The movement was languid but everything else about them, from their roving hands to their needy, panting gasps between kisses, was rough.

Clarke wrapped her arms around his neck and her peaked nipples brushed against his chest.  Thunder cracked above them and he dragged his lips down the side of her neck, tasting her salt under the sweet, cool rain.  Her head dropped back and he nipped at her jaw, her nails dragging across his scalp. The next clap of thunder seemed to come from right above them, and Clarke wrenched away, only to grab his hand and tow him back towards the house.  They stumbled inside together, heedless of the puddles they were leaving on her gleaming kitchen floor.

Bellamy couldn’t let go.  They were fused at the lips and their hands searched for skin wherever they could.  She slipped her hands under his shirt and he captured her nipple in his mouth through the thin, soaked cotton of her dress, swirling his tongue around it and palming her other breast roughly.  Clarke groaned and leaned back against the sink as he fumbled at the button between her breasts. He wedged his knee between her legs and she rocked her hips forward, tearing at his shirt until she undid the buttons and shoved it from his shoulders.  Part of him worried this was a dream, but then her teeth found the muscle between his neck and shoulder and he knew nothing he dreamed would ever feel quite that good. He stopped his efforts to unbutton her dress and pulled off his undershirt. Clarke pressed wet, open mouthed kisses over his heart until he wound his hands in her hair and tugged her head back.  He kissed her lips first, and then her neck, and then her sternum, sinking to his knees. Clarke curved her arms around his head and he nuzzled her stomach. From here he could smell her faintly, a rich, intoxicating musk that made his mouth water. He trailed his fingers up the sides of her legs and under her skirt, seeking out the soft silk panties he could see outlined through her dress.  He found the waistband and looked up, waiting for her to nod before he eased them down.

Clarke’s eyes bored into him and he nudged her hem up, slowly revealing her smooth, muscular thighs.  He nipped at the inside of her knee and settled between her legs, and Clarke brushed a curl back from his forehead tenderly.  She had a dusting of dark golden hair between her legs and he ran a soft, experimental finger through her slippery folds. Clarke made a noise, half whine, half impatience, and he used his thumbs to part her.

He caught a glimpse of shiny pink flesh and swiped his tongue across it.  He took a moment to savor her taste and then buried his face in her cunt, thrusting his tongue into her entrance.  Her arousal invaded his senses, rich and complex. Clarke’s legs buckled and he caught her just in time, his arms wrapping around her hips to hold her up. This splayed her legs further apart and gave him better access as she curled her fingers into his hair and tugged him closer.  She was nearly riding his face, making obscene noises that went straight to his groin and made him redouble his efforts. He lashed at the bud at the apex of her folds and felt her tense up. “There, please, there,” she begged so he kept going, and when her nails bit into his scalp he knew she was close.

He wanted it as badly as she did.  He needed to know he could do this, give her something, make her feel good.  He was hard as iron but all that mattered was the feel of her cunt under his tongue and the sounds she made as she came undone, pulsing and gasping and shattering against his mouth.  Bellamy eased her through it, slowing his licks to a soft, gentle pace until she unwound her legs from his shoulders and stood.

Bellamy expected her to take a moment, but she simply hauled him up to messily clean herself from his lips and drop her hand to palm him through his trousers.  The rough, needy friction of her hand and the coarse fabric of his trousers was almost too much and he scrabbled with the fasteners to free himself. “Are you sure?” he gasped, even as she was taking him in her hand and slicking his cock with her arousal.  

“Yes, god yes,” she panted.  Clarke was balanced precariously on the sink, her hands braced on the edge, and he wrapped his arm around her to hold her close. He lined himself up at her entrance and she drew his lower lip between her teeth, whimpering with need.  With one thrust he pushed into her. His vision went black and he wondered if anything had ever felt this perfect. And then her lips were on his neck and her nails were digging into his backside to spur him on. She hitched one leg higher around his hips and he pulled out almost all the way before sheathing himself back in.  From this angle he could get impossibly deep, her walls tight and snug and her lips sweet under his. She met him thrust for thrust, faster and faster, until he felt pressure building at the base of his spine. He wanted to come inside of her, if only because he never wanted to pull out of her. Being inside of Clarke was as near to perfect as he’d felt in years but he couldn’t risk leaving her with a child.

“I’m close,” he whispered, and Clarke nodded.  With an immense effort he withdrew and took himself in his hand.  Clarke wrapped her fingers around his and with two strokes he was spilling onto the floor with a guttural groan.  He rested his forehead against hers and struggled for breath. He wasn’t sure where they stood anymore, but he knew that even if she threw him out tomorrow, he couldn’t regret it.

“I’m sorry about the floor,” he said eventually, and Clarke giggled.  She stole a kiss and cupped his face in her hands.

“Stop apologizing,” she said sternly.  “But we should get out of these wet things before we catch our death.”  The storm was still raging outside, and Bellamy wiped down the floor while Clarke ran upstairs for blankets.  She wrapped one around Bellamy’s shoulders and kissed him again. “We should eat,” she said, ducking her head shyly.

Curiously, that gave Bellamy more confidence and he tugged her back for a longer, slower kiss.  “We should eat,” he echoed against her lips, and Clarke rolled her eyes, smiling. They moved through the kitchen together, stumbling in each other’s way and finding themselves unable to resist kissing each other again, delaying the process of assembling sandwiches for far longer than necessary.

Finally they settled down, blankets still around their shoulders.  Clarke lifted her sandwich to her lips and then set it back down. “About— before.” Bellamy raised an eyebrow and she laughed, slapping at his arm.  “I meant last week. When I told you I couldn’t. I was afraid. I’ve fallen in love twice, and I’ve buried them both.”

At the word  _ love _ his heart gave an uncomfortable lurch, but he kept his face neutral and rested his hand on hers.  “I know how that feels,” he said softly.

“I know,” Clarke said, and flipped her hand over.  “I wanted you, and I— I thought I could just deny it until you left.  But I couldn’t.”

“So what now?” he asked carefully.

“We enjoy ourselves until Madi comes home.  If that’s agreeable to you, of course.”

It didn’t feel like enough time, but he had a sinking suspicion there was no such thing as  _ enough time _ when it came to Clarke for him.  “And after?”

“After...we go back to how it was.  It’ll be the harvest, and then you’re leaving,” she said, looking away.  “I think I need this; remind myself I can let go without risking it all.”

“It all?”

“My heart.”

The meaning of her words sunk in but he didn’t let it show.   _ I’ll be whatever you need _ , he’d promised, and he meant it.  If she wanted him, she could have him and he would handle whatever came later.  

And when she kissed him, he told himself it didn’t hurt.

* * *

For the first time in longer than he could remember, Bellamy woke up in a bed. He had a pillow and a light coverlet draped across his legs, and the sun streamed through white muslin curtains.  Best of all, Clarke was sprawled out on her stomach with a lock of hair stuck to her cheek. It swayed with each inhale and exhale, and he smiled softly to himself. He watched her sleeping and when the rooster crowed for the second time, he reached over and smoothed her hair back.

Clarke’s eyes fluttered open, and he wanted to drown in them.  “Hey,” she said with a half smile that wrapped around his heart.

“Hey,” he said, his thumb trailing down her jaw.  Slowly, their lips met again and Clarke rolled him to his back.

“We have chores to do,” she murmured reluctantly even as she settled between his legs.

“ _You_ have chores to do.  I’m staying right here all day,” he teased, and Clarke laughed against his chest.  Out in the barn, a cow let out an annoyed  _ moo, _  and Clarke groaned.

“We’re coming,” she yelled out the window, as if the cow could understand, and planted a kiss on his lips.  “And you and me? We’re not done.”

* * *

That afternoon, Clarke made her deliveries and Bellamy got out at the post office, like always.  He had a letter from Octavia, but he tucked it into his back pocket and ducked into the pharmacy.  The sharp nosed man was behind the counter, and he smirked when Bellamy asked for the prophylactics.  Bellamy glanced over his shoulder and waited for Murphy to turn back around.

He seized Murphy by his apron and hauled him halfway across the counter.  “You don’t mention this,” Bellamy growled. “I find out anyone in this town knows I bought these, I’ll kill you.”  He’d gotten fairly good at being intimidating in some of the rougher camps; it had been awhile since he used that persona, but it seemed to do the trick.  

Murphy held his hands up in surrender.  “Wouldn’t dream of it,” he said. Bellamy let go and Murphy smoothed out his apron, looking disgruntled.  Bellamy paid and waited for him to wrap it up into a plain brown package. He wandered to the park to read Octavia's letter and Clarke arrived at their meeting spot an hour later.  They drove back to the farm in a comfortable, companionable silence.  

After their evening chores Clarke cornered him outside the barn.  Her eyes dark, she prowled over and pressed against him until his back hit the wooden boards.  “I bought something today,” she said, her hands running up and down his sides. He buried his face in her hair and breathed her in, the clean scent of hay clinging to her skin.

“You did?” he asked.  He nuzzled the shell of her ear and drew her earlobe delicately between his teeth.  

Clarke shivered and laughed.  “Some prophylactics. So— so we don’t have the problem we had yesterday.  But don’t worry, I threatened Murphy within an inch of his life, so it shouldn’t get out.”

Bellamy threw his head back and laughed.  “Then I guess we spent the day terrifying Murphy, because I did the same.”

Clarke chuckled and rested her forehead against his chest.  He tucked her under his chin and wrapped his arms around her, because the feel of her laughing in his arms was one of the best things he’d ever felt.  “And that means we probably have enough to last us…” she trailed off and tipped her head back to look him in the eye. “...as long as we want,” she finished.”

_ I’m yours as long as you want me. _  He knew she wouldn’t like the way that sounded, so instead he just grinned.  “Whatever the hell you want, princess.”

“Whatever?”

“Whatever.”

Clarke grinned darkly and twined their fingers together.  “Then I think it’s time we went upstairs.”

 

* * *

 

For the next three weeks, Bellamy was the happiest he’d ever been.  The days were long and hot and sometimes his shoulders ached, but he had Clarke beside him for all of it.  They spent their days working side-by-side, and their evenings listening to the radio, laughing and talking and dancing when the mood struck.

And the nights.

Every night they would fall into bed together.  Sometimes they found their way together with lips and tongues and soft, urgent gasps, but sometimes they simply talked until they fell asleep.  He learned that Clarke snored slightly, and that even if the air was sticky with humidity she liked to be touching him when she drifted off. He grew used to sleeping in a bed again, and even more used to the way his heart would clench when he looked at her.

Bellamy knew what that meant, but he also knew it was impossible.  What he had with Clarke would last only as long as the season, and then he would tuck her away into a corner of his heart.  It would hurt, but he’d borne plenty of hurt in his life. These golden weeks would warm him later on and that would have to be enough.  

The night before Madi was due home, the heat in the house reached a stifling level and they dragged Clarke’s mattress downstairs and onto the back porch instead.  It was only marginally cooler outside, but at least they had a chance of feeling the breeze when it kicked up. And Bellamy got to watch Clarke sleep while bathed in moonlight.

He rested his cheek against the pillow and listen to an owl hooting in the trees.  Frogs were singing, their croaks mingling with the crickets and the gentle rustle of leaves.  Clarke had fallen asleep almost immediately, but Bellamy took the time to memorize the curve of her cheek and the way her lips parted as she breathed.  Her hair, so warm and golden in the sun, was silver silk under the full moon. Bellamy reached out, brushing back a lock that had fallen across her face, and settled down to sleep next to her for the last time.

Something soft tickling his chest woke him.  He blinked his eyes open and found her nuzzling his bare chest, gently illuminated by the rising morning sun.

“Morning,” he said wryly, and Clarke grinned as she took his already hard length in her hand.

“Good morning,” she said, and flicked her tongue across the tip of his cock. He groaned and pushed his hips up, needing more.  But Clarke sheathed him in a prophylactic he didn’t remember her bringing and sank down without preamble. She was already so hot and wet his mouth went dry.  “I was thinking about you,” she purred, rocking forward.

With each movement, his cock hit the front of her walls.  Clarke leaned forward and he surged up to kiss her. Out in the yard a robin chirped at the rising sun.  Her skin was drenched in golden light and he cupped her breasts in his hands, teasing the hard, pink nipples as she moved.  Clarke clamped her lower lip between her teeth and sped up, her hand dropping between her legs.

Bellamy had seen her bring herself to her peak a dozen times by now, but he never got tired of it.  He loved watching her touch herself, loved watching the flush spread down her chest as she got close, loved watching the sparks in her eyes as she looked at him.  He felt his own peak drawing nearer and sank his fingers into her hips, helping her grind down on him just right.

He pushed up and she bore down, her walls clenching and shuddering as Clarke came apart on his cock.  He fucked her through it and then tumbled after her, letting go with a moan that startled the robin into silence.

She smiled down at him and a lightning bolt struck his chest.   _ I love you _ .  The words were on the tip of his tongue and he fought them back desperately.

He loved her. There it was, despite all his efforts to keep it at bay.  He was in love with Clarke, completely and irrevocably.

Clarke rested her elbows on either side of his head and placed a delicate kiss between his eyebrows.  “What is it?” she murmured.

He ran his hands up her back and smoothed them down her spine, memorizing the way she felt under his palms.  “I’ll move my things from your room when you go get Madi,” he said, because  _ I love you _ was not part of their deal. 

He was started to soften inside of her, but still she didn’t move.  “Don’t bother,” she said, drawing his lower lip between her teeth. She kissed him slowly, lazily, the sun beginning to warm their skin.  “I’ve been thinking...there are worse things for Madi to see than…” she broke off and kissed his chin. “There are worse things than two adults who care about each other.  There’s nothing to be ashamed of, and I want her to see that.”

His heart gave a tiny leap at the thought of waking up next to Clarke for the next two months.  “You’re sure?”

“I’m sure,” she said, and he couldn’t help but pull her back down for another kiss, rolling her to her back while they were still joined together.  Work was calling to them both, but for now, he would savor the moment.

* * *

 

Bellamy was surprised by how little Madi’s return changed things.  At first he was hesitant to show Clarke the casual physical affection he’d grown used to while Madi was away, but the third time Clarke stopped him in the yard to plant a kiss on his lips he realized she had no such compunctions.  So he let himself touch Clarke when he wanted, whether it was a hand on her back while they moved through the kitchen or an absent-minded kiss to her temple when they walked side by side through the fields. Madi didn’t seem to mind, aside from a brief period of wariness that waned within days.  She went back to school and the harvest began in earnest, and Bellamy had less time for sitting on the porch with Clarke and watching the sun sink beneath the horizon. They worked from the moment the sun rose until long after it set, collapsing into her soft mattress each night. He was used to hard work, but as the fields emptied out his heart grew heavy.

Soon, she wouldn’t be able to afford to pay him anymore.  The money she made from the harvest would need to be squirreled away for the winter months, and Madi had started talking about wanting to go to college in Chicago.  Even if that was years away, Bellamy knew Clarke would insist on paying for it herself, which meant scrimping and saving.

And no matter how much he loved her, Bellamy couldn’t stay.  Not without money. He still had responsibilities to Octavia and he wouldn’t take money from Clarke’s meagre winter stash.  He would earn his keep, and that meant moving on. Ever since he’d overheard her speaking with Raven late one September evening, he’d known staying was impossible.  

_ I may care for him, but I don’t see how he can stay on _ , Clarke had said.  He was coming in from the barn; the two women unaware of his presence.  He didn’t want to eavesdrop but he was rooted for the spot even as dread and guilt filled his veins.   _ We haven’t enough money for him, and there isn’t any work in town. _

_ So what will you do? _ Raven had asked.  There was a noise like a chair being moved closer to another, and a long, heavy silence.

_ Be with him for as long as I can.  And then we’ll say goodbye. _

_ That’s it? _

_ That’s all I can offer, _ Clarke replied, the sadness in her voice leaching through the window and floating across the yard.  He decided then and there he wouldn’t ask to stay. Leaving would break his heart, but while he could bear that, he couldn’t bear breaking hers.

* * *

 

It was mid October when Clarke found him sitting on the porch, reading a letter from Miller.  Clarke wrapped her sweater around her middle and ducked her head against the wind. “Bad news?”

Bellamy re-read the last paragraph again.  “Miller found an orchard out in California that’s hiring.”

Clarke huddled next to him on the step and he draped his arm around her.  “When do you need to leave?” she asked, laying her head on his shoulder.

“They’ll hold a position for me until early November,” he said.  “The owner of the lumberyard he found up in Minnesota has a cousin who owns it, and he vouched for them.  Miller and Monty, I mean, and they managed to talk him into holding a position for me too. They’re leaving in two weeks, but I can stay longer if the work isn’t done.”

Clarke sat up straight and blinked rapidly.  “There’s no need,” she said huskily. “We’ll be finished next week, and then— you should join them.  The trip will be safer if you’re not alone.”

“Clarke—”

“We knew this day would come, right?” she said with a wavering resolve.  “So it’s come.”   
  


* * *

 

The day he left dawned cold and grey.  A train came through every Saturday at a little after ten that would take him to the stop in South Dakota.  Monty and Miller had promised to wait for him there, which meant he had to leave the closest place to home he’d known in years before Clarke’s grandfather clock struck ten.

They rose early and he insisted on helping with the morning chores, like always.  He wanted it to be normal, because the comfort he’d found hadn’t just been in Clarke’s arms.  It had been in the peace that came with knowing he belonged, in feeling that he fit somewhere. But Madi was unusually subdued, and Clarke’s smiles seemed forced.

Bellamy packed his few possessions and wished he had something he could leave behind for Clarke.  He touched the bed, memories of their last night— quiet and gentle, tasting of unspoken tears— still fresh in his mind.  He brushed her white coverlet with his fingertips and heard her footsteps at the door.

“I’ve packed you some food,” she said, and when he shook his head she held up her hand.  “Please, you know we’ve always had enough to eat. It should last you a few days, at least.”

“Thank you,” he rasped, and Clarke looked away, wiping at her cheek.  “For everything.”

When she looked back her eyes were gleaming but no tears were falling.  “Thank you,” she whispered, and he wanted to draw her to him and kiss her, but he knew that if he started, he’d never stop.  Instead he just tucked a lock of hair back behind her ear and allowed his thumb to trail across her jaw. “It’s time,” he said, and she nodded.

Madi was waiting at the bottom of the stairs and launched into him for a hug.  “Who’s going to help me with my Latin?” she mumbled into his chest.

Bellamy laughed and ruffled her hair.  “Certainly not Clarke, that’s for sure,” he said, and Clarke snorted behind them.

He walked out onto the porch, the cold wind a stark contrast to the gentle summer breeze the day he arrived.  Clarke stood in the doorway, arms wrapped around herself like she was holding herself together.

Maybe she was.

“You ladies take care of each other,” he said as sternly as he could manage.

Clarke jerked her head, a sad smile on her face.  “You take care too, Bellamy,” she said.

They had agreed last night there would be no kisses goodbye, to soften the blow of their parting.  But he couldn’t leave without touching her one last time, so Bellamy bent his head and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

Clarke closed her eyes and let out a choked sob.  It was like a knife in the gut, that sound, and he had to leave now or he never well.

He couldn’t bring himself to look back.  He strode down the now-familiar drive and out to the road.  Tears burned in his eyes but he kept moving forward, determined not to break.  The farm shrank behind him and he drew nearer the tracks, dreading each and every footstep that took him farther away from Clarke.

“Bellamy!” Madi yelled from behind him.  He whirled and found her tearing up the road on her bike, legs pumping furiously.  She skidded to a stop just a foot from him. “You can’t leave,” she said desperately.  “Stay. We’ll figure it out.”

“Didn’t realize you liked Latin that much,” he said with an attempt at humor.

“Funny,” Madi said, a smile flickering across her face before sobering. “Clarke— she’s so sad.  And I know she’s trying to hide it, but I know— she needs you, Bellamy. Just stay with us.”

“I can’t,” he said, his heart cracking in two.  “Clarke doesn’t have the money, and I can’t just leave my sister without anything.  I don’t want to leave, but— I have to.”

“Will you come back?  Next spring, when we’re planting.  Will you come back then?”

“I can try,” he told Madi.  “If that’s what she wants. And if Clarke can’t pay me, maybe I can find something else near here.”  The train whistle sounded and he glanced towards the track.

Madi squared her shoulders.  “I’ll find you something,” she vowed.  “If you promise to come back, I’ll find you something.”

He knew she meant it, and smiled faintly.  “Then you have a deal, kid.”


	4. Epilogue

Bellamy looked down at the letter in his hand.  The corners fluttered in the wind coming in through the open door, the first hints of spring in the air.

 

_ Dear Mr. Blake, _

_ If you’re as accomplished as you appear, Arkadia High would be lucky to have you.  You have quite the advocate in Madi Black— I’m not sure I was allowed to say no. With Mr. Sterling moving to Des Moines with his fiancée this summer, we will have an opening in History provided you are willing to teach a few Latin classes as well.  You will have to interview with the Superintendent but you will have my full, unreserved support. I’m looking forward to meeting you upon your return.  _

_ Regards, _

_ Charles Pike _

 

Bellamy leaned out the door of the train to check his progress.  Up ahead he saw the copse of trees where he could drop off unnoticed, and picked up his pack.  It was considerably bulkier than when he left Arkadia in the fall, mostly thanks to the bundle of letters he had buried at the bottom.  The first letter he received from Clarke had felt like a gift from the gods, her every word still burned into his mind.  _ I thought I could do this, _ she wrote. _ I thought I could watch you go and move on, but it’s been three weeks and Madi can’t take it anymore.  She insisted I write to you, so write to you I shall. _

_ I miss you, Bellamy.  I miss you, and I want nothing more than for you to return. _

The sun in California always shone, but it never felt brighter than the day he received her letter.  He wrote her back that very night.

She wrote to him every week all winter, her letters balm for his aching heart.  He wrote back, telling her about orange groves and how strange it felt to wear his shirtsleeves in January.  Madi wrote often too, and every letter was like being back in the farmhouse, surrounded by love.

But no matter what he poured into his letters to Clarke, he kept that to himself.  Not that he didn’t love her, or didn’t want her to know it. But he wanted to say it to her in person.  He wanted to see the words land in her eyes, see her smile when she returned them. Because for the first time in a long, long time, Bellamy knew he was loved.

Bellamy leapt from the train and rolled into the newly sprouted grass.  He checked the pack again, needing to be sure the small brown packet at the bottom was safe.  Octavia had sent it to him the moment he wired her about it, along with a letter filled with entirely too many exclamation points.

It wasn’t much, his mother’s ring, but it was enough.  Bellamy’s legs carried him past the fields and the Lemkin farm.  He checked carefully before approaching Clarke’s property line, but there were no signs of anyone out and about.

Clarke thought she was meeting him tomorrow at the train station, like a respectable man with a job in a school.  And he had intended on booking seats on the train, but he couldn’t resist one last ride. He’d grown used to the freedom of traveling that way and wanted to say goodbye.

Besides, this way he could surprise her.  

Bellamy approached Clarke’s southern pasture and spotted her immediately, kneeling in the middle of a muddy field.  He didn’t make a sound but still she straightened, whirling to look at him as if he’d rung a bell.

For half a second, she stood stock still, staring.  Then a smile split her face, lighting up the sky.

Bellamy broke into a run.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Everything I know about itinerant laborers in the 1930s I learned from that one episode of Mad Men.
> 
> (Title courtesy of Hozier, and special thanks to samsjazz for her beta-ing).


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